


Anniversaries

by Joules Mer (joulesmer)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dadmiral Christopher Pike, Eventual James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-09-29 02:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joulesmer/pseuds/Joules%20Mer
Summary: Without preamble, Captain Pike slid a glass of scotch across his desk and said, “They’re going to release the audio recording for the twenty-fifth anniversary.”Accepting the glass, McCoy frowned, surprised by the summons and not quite following.  “Which recording?”“Therecording.”Nothing more needed to be said.





	1. Chapter 1

It’d been over two years and his sister’s advice from the morning he left Georgia still had a tendency to ring in his ears: “And for God’s sake, Leonard, don’t sass up the chain of command.”

Dodging puddles as he hurried, because of course the summons had come for shortly after a practical that always overran, Leonard reminded himself that he was going to go, and he was going to stand at attention, and he was going to be polite, dammit, because Captain Pike was a big deal in the ‘fleet.

Graduation was approaching in the spring; just a few more months of the indignity of being a mature cadet before he could yes sir and no sir in Starfleet Medical HQ or on a starbase or, God forbid Jim got his way, on a _starship_ somewhere.

He was one minute late as he flattened his hair with one hand and pressed the buzzer for admittance with the other. The outer office had been deserted and the yeoman’s desk empty; the only sign the captain was still working in the inner sanctum was that the lights had been left on. 

1832\. Leonard sighed, internally, make that two minutes late.

“Enter.”

The door slid open to reveal a surprisingly traditional office, with none of the sleek projections favored by some of the admiralty. It was oriented around what must normally be a clear view of the bridge though half-shuttered blinds, despite the fact the sun had long set. It was mostly muted fleet greys, but a chess set on a side table and a shelf containing several real bound books brought a personal touch. 

A display called up on the desk appeared to be structural schematics, the name _Enterprise_ clearly legible even upside down. Looking up, Pike offered something that might have been a small smile, waving a hand invitingly, “Have a seat, doctor.”

Doctor, not cadet. Leonard relaxed slightly and quickly settled into the chair.

Without preamble, Captain Pike slid a glass with a finger of scotch across his desk and said, “They’re going to release the audio recording for the twenty-fifth anniversary.”

Accepting the glass, Leonard frowned, surprised by the summons and not quite following, “Which recording?”

“ _The_ recording.”

And, yes, there was only one possibility of what that could be. It had never been made public, but the story of James T. Kirk being named by both his parents, moments after his birth, had been recounted in the tabloids for years. Leonard felt his stomach drop to the general vicinity of his boots as he growled, “Those bastards are going to make him listen to his father die?”

Pike grimaced at the blunt appraisal, but gave curt nod, furious at Starfleet and his own inability to prevent it.

Leonard clenched his left hand into a fist so tight he felt nails bite into his palms as he growled, “Happy goddamn birthday, Jim.”

“He’s back from orbital exercises tonight. I’m going to ask him to stop by after they dock and tell him then.” Fixing the doctor with a firm stare, the admiral asked, “Look after him?” 

Knocking back the drink, eyes watering at the burn even as he groaned his appreciation at the malt, Leonard set the empty glass firmly on the table and replied, “Don’t I always, sir.”

Pike’s assessing gaze lingered on the younger man. He’d never spent any real amount of time with McCoy: medical and command track were different fiefdoms at the academy, but the man’s reputation was well known among the instructors. A brilliant doctor with a bourbon habit kept in check. Sharp tongue when warranted. The only one able to exert a meaningful measure of influence over _enfant terrible_ Jim Kirk.

Seeming to come to a decision, the captain took a long sip of his own drink and relaxed his posture to say, “I have a suspicion I don’t want to know the half of it.”

With a rueful grin, Leonard went with the change in tone as he replied, “Not officially, sir, no.”

“You two have a bolthole?” Jim had never mentioned going anywhere in particular with McCoy so he’d assumed they didn’t, but the doctor was old enough an apartment somewhere wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. 

“A _bolthole_?” Leonard raised an eyebrow, “You think it’s going to be that bad?”

Sensing a need to fortify McCoy against the reality of the situation, Pike pulled out the bottle and added a couple fingers to the empty glass before lightly topping off his own. “The ‘fleet PR office has been planning this for _years_. The sacrifice of the Kelvin commanders is the defining act of a generation of Starfleet leadership. Most of the admirals personally knew Robau and some Kirk as well; every captain of my age had them held up as our own real Kobayashi Maru. That the Kelvin baby has come back into the fold, a wayward son with a rap sheet who is now pulling top marks in command track; it’s the tragic fairytale that’s the stuff the public relations office dreams of at night. They’re planning a big ceremony on the anniversary: dress uniforms, speeches, all the brass and a sea of bright eyed cadets. Last I heard they were planning to play the recording before the minute of silence. I called in a favour and got a look at the seating plan: they’ve got the cadet recipients of the Palm Leaf of Axanar Peace Mission right at the front, suspiciously close to what looks like a camera rig.” After a moment to let the implications of that sink in, he repeated, “So: can you get out of town easily?”

Leonard felt sick. Jim had worked _so damn hard_ over the last two and a half years to _earn_ his position in Starfleet. It wasn’t fair that some PR hack was about to undo everything; to undermine his every accomplishment since he’d joined up. They’d claim it was a celebration of George Kirk, and his sacrifice, and Jim’s own accomplishments on Axanar, but the perception of nepotism was an insidious thing. The truth was Leonard didn’t have much to offer. He’d started to mend his tattered finances by taking extra clinic shifts, but still barely had a couple credits to rub together. Pike was meeting his gaze with an expression that was equal parts compassion and curiosity and for some reason he didn’t quite fathom, Leonard trusted him enough to admit, “My ex took the whole damn planet in the divorce.”

Nodding in a way that implied an understanding, Pike set a thin padd on the table between them. At Leonard’s curious gaze, he explained, “Permissions that can get you an unrecorded ‘fleet beam tomorrow after classes and access codes for my place in Mojave. If you decide you need to get away for a few days, no one will find you there. It’s fully stocked, just take an overnight bag.” 

The gesture was unexpected; Leonard had to swallow to mask his surprise. Pike was serving as the commandant of cadets while the Enterprise was under construction, and had crossed Jim’s path on more than one occasion. Considering further, Leonard amended that to _many_ occasions, both good and bad. Mostly good, though. Jim may have driven some of his instructors to distraction with his cocky attitude, but damn if the kid couldn’t back it up with his brains. Since deciding to take his flippant _I’ll do it in three_ seriously, Jim had also buckled down and kept his on campus conduct carefully above board.

The silence stretched as Leonard searched for words, so the older man filled the gap, “Don’t feel obligated to use it.” Head tipping slightly to one side, he added, “I won’t mention it to Jim tonight. It’s your call.”

“Thank you, sir.” Leonard indicated both the padd and the drink as he said, “I appreciate it.”

“I’ll be done with him around nine.” With a quick nod, Leonard drained his glass and stood, essentially dismissed. As the doctor made to exit the office, Pike added, in a tone suffused with empathy, “It’s a dark sky community; stargazing is worth it if you pack your warm clothes. Try the master bedroom window.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alone in Jim’s quarters, Leonard turned the padd over in his hands and watched the chronometer inch towards 2100 hours. He knew the news wouldn’t land well with Jim and on any other night he’d be concerned the younger man would go straight to a bar for a little alcohol induced oblivion. Pike had probably made a point of ambushing him before he could stop by his dorm. With his duffel in hand and wearing the grey flight suit of orbital exercises, Jim would need to come home before he could think about going out.

The door hissed open and Leonard quickly looked up.

“Bones?” A quickly plastered on smile faded as Jim took in the older man more carefully. There was a note of accusation in his tone as he dropped his duffel with the thud and asserted, “Pike told you.”

“Yeah, Jim.” The kid didn’t look great: puffy eyes spoke of long shifts during the exercises and the tension in his frame was palpable. “Come sit.” It told Leonard a lot that the younger man simply _complied_. Leaving his things by the door, Jim crossed the room and settled heavily on the sofa next to Leonard. It was Wednesday night: the ceremony, and Jim’s birthday, was set to fall on Friday. They had a full schedule of classes the next day, but everything had been cancelled across the academy the day after. “What did Pike say?” He knew the captain would have told Jim everything; whether the younger man had been able to process it all might be another story.

“That ‘fleet PR are about to pull the kind of crap my mother always hated them for.” 

The mention of his mother was telling. Jim rarely mentioned Winona Kirk, and never while sober. Leonard waited, but the younger man seemed disinclined to say more. “Sounds like it’s going to be a shitshow. Do your laundry, pack a bag— bring some warm clothes, go to class tomorrow, and meet me at the transport hub at 1900 hours.”

“Seriously?” Emotions flitted across Jim’s face more quickly than Leonard could process, settling into a cautious form of gratitude.

Unwilling to take credit for something that hadn’t been his idea, “Pike offered.” Leonard gave a crooked half smile, “Seems like a good idea to take advantage of it.”

“Smart man.” It wasn’t clear if Jim was referring to Pike or McCoy.

Patting Jim’s knee, Leonard gently ordered: “Laundry, bag, bed.”

Managing a weak smile in return, Jim nodded.

******

Shifting uneasily in his civvies, strap of his duffel biting into his shoulder, Leonard kept his eyes on the entrance to the transport facility. He’d been ten minutes early and acutely felt every second pass as he waited. At 1859 a familiar sandy blond head appeared in the crowd. Still in his cadet reds, Jim hurried over and Leonard tried to mask his relief that the other man actually came.

“Hey, Bones.” Jim looked stressed, with creases at the corner of his eyes that spoke of a largely sleepless night.

“Hey, Jim.” Clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, Leonard steered him towards their assigned transport bay. Beaming the orders from the padd, the console gave a chime of approval and he moved them onto the dias before either of them could change their minds. 

They materialized in darkness and a gust of cold air. After a pause of half a second an automated light snapped on and revealed they were standing on a timber deck. The front siding and door appeared to be wood as well, but the locking mechanism was modern. Quickly keying in the code from Pike made the door open with a soft click and they hurried inside to find the ambient temperature was slightly cool but at least not outright cold.

It was a world apart from the durasteel and glass of ‘fleet HQ. This building was something Leonard almost wanted to call a cabin, although it was clearly two stories tall and spacious. They’d entered into a living room that featured an antique but clearly functional wood stove, a long sofa and comfortable-looking, well worn easy chair. The space was open to a large dining table that looked like smooth reclaimed wood; beyond that a bar demarcated a more modern kitchen. 

An amber bottle on the bar caught their eye. Crossing the space, they found a well aged scotch with a handwritten tag affixed to the neck by a loop of string: _Happy birthday, Jim._ Evidently the captain had been confident Leonard would take him up on the offer.

Voice small and tight with emotion, Jim softly said, “I’m really tired, Bones.”

“Okay.” Steering Jim towards the stairs with a hand on his shoulder, Leonard offered, “Let’s find the bedrooms, let you get changed, and I’ll see if I can pull together a quick dinner.”

“Thanks, Bones.”

Jim took the master bedroom and Leonard claimed a smaller one down the hall. The aesthetic from downstairs continued above; to call it rustic would be a disservice. It wasn’t simply rustic, it was one of the most comfortably beautiful spaces Leonard had hung his hat. Quickly stowing his bag, he found the door to the master bedroom still firmly shut, so he descended the stairs and went to see about dinner.

The replicator unit was high end, but when Leonard opened the fridge he decided that _fully stocked_ had been an understatement: beer, wine, meat, vegetables and cheese of various sorts filled the shelves. A stasis unit on the counter held what looked like a homemade loaf of bread. The furrows at the corners of Jim eyes indicated a man on the edge of crashing, so Leonard pulled out two beers and set about quickly making sandwiches with that looked like some very good salami. 

Finishing dinner, he carried the plates and beer into the living room area and set them on the coffee table. There was a box of honest to god matches by the kindling that gave Leonard pause, but his mother hadn’t raised a fool so he set about building a fire as best as he could. 

Jim came down to find Leonard holding a match in one hand, staring at the striking pad on the side of the box as if it might bite. Suppressing a chuckle, he came over and gently took them out of the older man’s hands with a soft, “Let me.” The fire looked properly built, so he quickly struck a match and held it in place until the firestarter paper under the kindling caught.

He turned to find Leonard watching him from the sofa, a soft half-smile on the doctor’s face. Something unexpected twisted in Jim’s chest in response, but he ignored it in favor of taking a seat and inspecting the dinner offering. God, he hadn’t realized that he’d forgotten to eat lunch until now. Applying himself to the food, and the beer, Jim enjoyed a companionable silence in front of the now roaring fire. Sandwich done, he settled back against the cushions of the sofa, practically shoulder to shoulder with Bones. It felt comfortable. Jim took a sip of his beer; blinked, took another sip.

As a warm weight settled more firmly against his side, Leonard’s gaze flitted away from the fire and to the man beside him. He couldn’t keep a small smile off his lips at what he found: Jim was sound asleep, mouth starting to fall open. Gently reaching out, he plucked the not quite empty beer bottle out of the younger man’s lax fingers.

“Jim.”

“Hmmm?”

“Time for bed. Come on,” wrapping an arm around Jim’s shoulders, he carefully pulled the not quite awake man to his feet. 

They somehow managed to navigate the stairs without incident; Jim was clearly crashing hard after an intense week with the flight squadrons. As Leonard gave him a gentle push into the master bedroom, he softly slurred, “Thanks, Bones.”

“Night, Jim.”

 

******** 

January 4th dawned cool and clear; the early morning sunlight painted the sky over the scrubland in purples and blues. It was an unfamiliar landscape for Leonard, but beautiful in its own way. They hadn’t set any alarms the night before, so when the master bedroom door still appeared tightly closed he simply tiptoed down the stairs and put on a pot of coffee. 

Jim didn’t appear until nearly 0930, sporting a spectacular case of bed head but looking more rested than he had in months. He made straight for the sofa where Leonard was stretched out with a third cup of coffee and a padd of journal articles he’d been meaning to read for a long time. Snagging the mug, Jim stole a sip despite Leonard’s half hearted protest then settled into the armchair and asked, “What should we do today, Bones?”

Having anticipated such a question, Leonard was ready with an answer: “There’s a town about a half hour away, surrounded by fifty miles of parkland. We could pack some lunch and go hiking.”

Outdoors. Away from any reminders of the day, or of the ‘fleet. It sounded _perfect_. A measure of tension Jim almost hadn’t realized he was carrying seemed to relax as he said, “You got it.”

********

A sleek groundcar was parked in the attached garage; Jim gave a low whistle when he slipped into a front seat and got a good look at the console. As Leonard piloted it away from the house, they caught sight of a barn and paddock a short distance away. “Huh,” Jim followed the structure with his eyes as they pulled onto the long driveway, “I wonder if he rides.”

The parkland was beautiful; a world apart from their lives in San Francisco. They hiked for several hours before stopping for a late lunch in a secluded grove, the sweeping architecture of a city just visible in the distance. It was a pleasant day and they talked mostly about the academy as they walked, that and their plans for after graduation. There was no acknowledgement of the day, but if that was what Jim needed then Leonard was content to give it to him. 

The sun set early in January. They made it back to the groundcar as the sky was being painted in pinks and reds and the chill increased in the air. By the time Leonard drove them back to the house a few stars were visible in the sky. 

“What do you want for dinner?” Jim just shrugged, but Leonard wasn’t about to be baited by the growing melancholy. “Steak it is. Make a fire and I’ll cook.” 

They ate on opposite sides of the broad table, drinking beers out of the bottle and back to chatting about nothing in particular. Clearing the dinner plates after they finished, Leonard glanced back to find Jim sitting at the table, gaze fixed on where his hands were splayed over the surface of the old wood. Impulsively, he set the replicator to make two slices of chocolate cake. Forgoing a candle, he set them down on the table unceremoniously but for a soft, “Happy birthday.”

The gesture seemed to be enough to startle Jim out of his melancholy; frown softening at the sight of his favourite cake, the younger man looked up and there was real warmth in his voice as he said, “Thanks Bones.”

Returning to the kitchen just long enough to grab the bottle of scotch and two glasses, he placed them in front of Jim. It had been the younger man’s gift, after all. 

The care with which Jim removed the tag from Pike suggested he didn’t get many birthday presents. Setting it to the side, as if he might keep it, Jim opened the bottle and poured a generous two fingers into each glass.

Leonard raised his glass between them, a toast without words. After a moment, Jim raised his own as well, gently clinking them together. 

The whisky was _good_. Leonard made a noise in the back of his throat that was borderline sexual in nature; with his eyes closed he was aware Jim didn’t sound much better. He took another sip, rolling the liquor around in his mouth before swallowing. Voice a little rough from the smooth burn, he offered, “That’s damn good scotch.”

“I guess captains are expected to have good taste in booze.” Jim took another sip, then added, “Make a note on your padd, Bones, a belated resolution for 2258: help Jim develop refined taste in whisky.”

Leonard snorted, relieved Jim was able to joke. He’d been struggling to read the other man all day. It didn’t help that Jim’s mood had seemed as changeable as the moon. Sensing the levity waning, Leonard simply waited for the other man to take the lead and move them in the direction he needed it to go.

Hesitant, acutely uncertain, Jim pulled a slim datachip out of his pocket and set it on the table between them. Without lifting his eyes from the chip, he softly said, “Pike gave me a copy.”

The recording. Jesus. Leonard’s hand stilled with his glass halfway to his mouth. When Jim didn’t seem to have more to say, he asked, “You going to listen to it?”

Jim shrugged, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“Would you _like_ to listen to it?”

The tension in Jim’s frame was palpable; he was looking at the data chip like an animal that might bite if he made a wrong movement.

Trying another similar tack, Leonard set down his glass and carefully asked, “Would you like me to listen with you?” Jim didn’t nod, but he didn’t decline either. Pressing gently, he added, “Tonight?” 

It was five long seconds before Jim gave a twitch that could be taken as a nod of assent.

Thinking quickly, Leonard reached out and took Jim’s free hand in his own, running a thumb over the other man’s knuckles as he said, “Put your warm clothes on and grab a spare blanket, I’ll meet you in your room in a minute. Before Jim could question the instructions, Leonard palmed the data chip and stood, topping up their glasses and carrying both from the room without waiting for the other man to follow.

In his own bedroom, Leonard quickly pulled on thick socks and a thermal sweater, then grabbed the blanket that had been folded on the foot of his bed. The door to the master bedroom was open and Jim had appeared to take his advice. Moving to the window, Leonard uttered a silent prayer that he’d understood Pike’s suggestion as he unlatched the frame and pushed it open. 

“Bones?”

Ignoring the word of confusion, Leonard looked out and in the light from the room… _jackpot_. Smiling, he brought his head back inside and said, “Turn off the lights in this room and bring your blanket.” Tucking his own more securely under his arm, and trying not to drop the two full glasses, Leonard hoisted himself up and through the window. There was a wide ledge immediately outside, and a meter to the left it turned into a flat space about four meters square. Even better, the flat was bordered by a pitched roof, just the right angle to use as a backrest. Crawling out, he settled himself and used his padd to shed some light as Jim came out after him. 

They settled shoulder to shoulder, glasses carefully positioned within reach, and it was Jim who looked up to the sky and murmured in appreciation, “The _stars_ , Bones.”

The Milky Way was clearly visible above them, a salient reminder of what Jim had been striving for over the last two and a half years. Longer, if the truth was told, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. They were pressed together, shoulder to hip to thigh, and even through the thick clothing and blankets Leonard could sense Jim leaning just that little bit closer. Pulling his padd out of his pocket, Pike’s data chip secured inside, Leonard carefully passed it over.

“Ready?” Jim’s question was as much for himself as for Leonard. Holding his breath as he started playback, Jim almost dropped the device when George Kirk’s voice came clearly out of the speakers, “ _Captain to Shuttle Thirty-Seven: is my wife on board_?”

“Yes sir, she is.”

“I need you to go now. Do you hear me?”

“We're waiting on you, sir.”

“No, just go… take off, immediately. That's an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jim stiffened against Leonard’s side as his mother’s voice joined the conversation to implore, “No, wait. We can't go yet. Please, stop.” Her words trailed off into a noise of pain, and then an alarmed cry, “George, the shuttle's leaving. Where are you?”

“Sweetheart, listen to me. I'm not going to be there.”

“No.”

Kirk’s voice was somehow calm and reassuring, even if his words were leading to an inexorable conclusion, “This is the only way you'll survive.”

“Please, don't stay on the ship. You have to be here.”

“The shuttles will never make it if I don't fight them off.”

“George, I can't do this without you!” In the background a med tech said something about pushing, and Winona gave a loud noise of pain.

Another voice joined the recording: the lusty cry of a healthy newborn.

Excitement was plain in George Kirk’s voice, as if the circumstances were forgotten in the face of becoming a father, “What is it?”

“It's a boy.”

“A boy! Tell me about him.”

“He's beautiful.” Wonder in Winona’s voice turned to a note of fear, “George, you should be here.”

_Impact alert_ was audible in the background, but George kept his tone suffused with excitement and warmth as he asked, “What are we going to call him?”

“We can name him after your father.”

“Tiberius?” The chuckle was audible in George Kirk’s voice, “Are you kidding me? No, that's the worst. Let's name him after your dad. Let's call him Jim.”

“Jim. Okay.” They were both crying freely now, the wetness plain in their voices, “Jim it is.”

Proximity alarms began to sound in the background, George nearly yelling over them to ask, “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

“I can hear.”

“I love you so much. I love you…” The recording abruptly cut off with a fraction of a second of the crashing, tearing roar of impact, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

Where their shoulders touched, Leonard felt Jim shiver and lean more closely against him. Goddamn. _God-damn_. Leonard didn’t know how to describe what he’d just heard: intimate beyond belief, undoubtedly heroic… Something had tightened in his own chest as he listened; he couldn’t imagine how Jim could bear it.

“He loved her.”

Softly, but firmly, Leonard asserted, “And you.”

“And me,” Jim agreed, shifting sideways to look down from the stars and curl against Leonard’s side. 

As the younger man’s shoulders began to shake, Leonard shifted to be able to bring an arm up and around Jim, holding him closely as the younger man softly wept under the cold light of the stars.

Neither knew how long they sat like that; Leonard’s hip had certainly long gone numb, pressed to the roof under Jim’s weight, when he felt rather than heard Jim say something into the front of his sweater. “What was that?”

Turning his head slightly to be more clear, but without releasing his hold on the other man, Jim repeated, “They almost called me Tiberius.”

It wasn’t anything that he’d have expected, but it was _Jim_ after all. With warmth in his tone, Leonard replied, “I have it on good authority mine almost called me Horatio.”

A snicker that was somehow bittersweet was the reply, with a soft, “Thank God for middle names.” Shifting to be more comfortable, Jim turned so his head was pillowed in Leonard’s lap and he could look up at the stars as he said, “My Grandpa Tiberius was a physicist. He’d worked on warp engine design; even met Jonathan Archer, but never went into the black himself. My dad practically grew up around the ‘fleet propulsion labs. Grandpa Jim was the farmer— in Iowa. Mom used to say there was nothing to do in Riverside but watch the corn grow and hang out by the shipyards. That’s how she got hooked on Starfleet as a kid.”

Talking about his family wasn’t something that Jim did; barring a few drunken mentions of his mother and someone Leonard assumed was a stepfather, the younger man had appeared on the Riverside shuttle as an enigma with a past kept deliberately vague. 

Not that Leonard had been much better himself. Two goddamn years it had taken before the name David McCoy had crossed his lips in Jim’s presence. It had been the anniversary of the day the cure had been discovered, because damn if that didn’t somehow sting more than the day his daddy’d died. Jim had pulled the flask from his numb fingers, crouching in front of him with an, “Oh, Bones,” that had made him finally let it all out.

They hadn’t spoken of it the next day. Leonard had woken up to find himself folded on the sofa with a throbbing head and a blanket carefully tucked around him. Jim was on the floor, slouched against the front of the sofa in a way that couldn’t be anything less than severely uncomfortable for spine, yet he’d clearly slept there. The younger man had stirred when Leonard rolled over; looking up with careful concern. What had Leonard managed in return? Just a gruff, “Thanks Jim,” that had been met with the flash of a smile and a quick change of subject.

Pulling his blanket more tightly around himself to stave off the chill in the night air, Jim continued, “I remember my Grandpa T. He used to visit twice a year when I was little: summer and the holidays. Grandma Kirk died when I was a baby, and my mom’s folks had moved to Deneva to support the farming initiative there, but Grandpa T used to get me books and things that he thought I’d like. Mom had kind of banned ‘fleet stuff, but we were living in the shadow of the shipyards and it was what everyone at school wanted to do. Remember those replica communicators and scanners they made for a while? He got me a set when I was seven; my friend Peter and I hid them in this fort we’d made in the barn and played with them just about every day for a summer.”

Something about how Jim was phrasing it didn’t sound like his grandfather had died. The younger man’s face was a smudge of grey in the darkness as Leonard asked, “What happened?”

“He didn’t like Frank.” Gaze fixed on the stars, Jim recounted, “And Frank didn’t like him either. He’d actually been a lieutenant on the Kelvin: a security officer. Frank evacuated the stellar cartography team and was wounded as he got them to safety; it left him with a limp that got him honourably discharged. I don’t think my mom knew him when they served together, not more than someone you’d recognize in passing. They ran into each other at the tenth anniversary ceremony; probably both thought it was bullshit for their own reasons. Mom had left me at home in Iowa and she came back a day late with Frank in tow. It was kind of tense for a couple years, Grandpa T didn’t stay with us like he used to, then Mom took a ten month mission to the edge of the Laurentian System. Grandpa T had a stroke six months in.” Voice becoming charged with emotion normally kept tightly under wraps, he continued, “Frank was a verbally abusive asshole and refused to take me out to SF for the funeral. So I totalled his Corvette.”

Leonard could feel his eyebrow making a break for his hairline. “You totaled a vintage Corvette? At _twelve_?”

“Yup.” Jim made a little burrowing motion to settle the back of his head more comfortably into Leonard’s lap. “Drove it into a quarry.” A brief moment of mirth at the memory was quickly sobered by what came next, “That’s when she agreed to send me to my aunt and uncle.”

Leonard brought a hand up out of his blanket and buried it in Jim’s hair: knowing what must be coming, but waiting for the confirmation from Jim himself.

A moment later it came: “On Tarsus.” They hadn’t spoken about this either. Leonard knew; the official records might be sealed, but the doctor could read the truth from Jim’s medical records. Markers of adolescent starvation, a period of stunted growth, healed fractures criss-crossing his long bones. It had taken Leonard half an hour to read the chart and realize the significance of the associated dates. It had taken half a second to realise that it wasn’t something to be talked about. “We used to watch the stars there: we’d all been born on Earth so they looked so different. There was a Vulcan scientist who did some volunteer science classes at school: she had us make our own charts of the sky and name the constellations we found. Pretty creative, for a Vulcan.” Jim took a shaky breath, grounding himself in the sensation of Leonard’s hand in his hair, and continued, “After it all went to shit we used to watch the stars too: hoping we’d see a ship coming to save us.”

When Leonard was thirteen he’d spent his nights tucked into bed in a house built by his great-great-grandfather and handed down through the family for three generations. His grandparents had lived three streets away and every Sunday they’d all tucked into dinner together in his father’s dining room. Gramma McCoy always made two fruit pies: one peach and one something else. Every single week. His biggest problems at that age had been his batting average on the local baseball team and the fact that his mother had some crazy idea of signing him up for drama classes to expand his horizons. 

He tugged Jim up and around, moving the other man to sit between his legs: Jim’s back against his chest, reclining slightly against the slope of the roof. It meant he could press Jim’s glass into the younger man’s hands, and take up his own as well. Leonard wrapped his free arm around the younger man’s midsection, holding him tightly as they sipped at the liquor and watched the stars. The air was cold, but a warmth was slowly blooming in his stomach that was part scotch and part, he realized, being so close to Jim himself.


	3. Chapter 3

The stars only grew more brilliant as they sat wrapped tightly together. Leonard finished his whisky, but didn’t feel inclined to move. Instead, he leaned forwards and pressed the tip of his cold nose into the thick blanket at the crook of Jim’s neck. It was an almost unconscious gesture; he hadn’t thought about the movement, or what it might convey.

A deep chuckle was the reply, the younger man shifting to allow access more easily. Leonard’s heart started to pound _thud, thud, thud_ against his ribcage. The gesture was unexpected, but unmistakable. 

It was absolutely crazy, but on the edge of the desert and with only the stars to judge them Leonard found himself leaning in to press a kiss to the exposed pulse point on Jim’s neck. Under his lips, he could feel the beat of Jim’s heart hammering just like his own.

He pressed another kiss just below the lobe of Jim’s ear, inhaling the scent of shampoo and hint of cologne. Feeling as much as hearing Jim sigh, he set down his now empty glass and did it again, using both arms to encircle the other man. 

Jim was a sturdy form of well muscled shoulders and lean limbs, and he slotted against Leonard as if they’d been doing this for years. Pressing a fourth kiss to slightly cool skin, he couldn’t fathom why they’d never done this before. 

There was a soft clink as Jim set down his own glass, then shifted in the embrace with a murmur of, “Bones.” It was awkward and impeded by the blankets, but he managed to struggle around until he could face Leonard. The older man was more of a shadowy outline than a clear form, but Jim managed to unerringly cup the side of Leonard’s face with his palm. There was no facial expression to go by, no whispered word of encouragement, so Jim simply took a leap and leaned forward to press his lips to Leonard’s. After a moment he felt Leonard’s mouth open under his and he deepened the kiss. The other man tasted faintly like whisky and his lips were softer than Jim would have expected.

They kissed for a while before reality began to reassert itself and Leonard pulled back with a gently apologetic, “Jim…” There had been too much emotion that day; too many shared secrets that muddied the waters of this change in their dynamic. Trying to put jumbled worries into words, Leonard said, “Today… I don’t…” _want to take advantage of you. Of this_.

Jim silenced him with another quick kiss, before pulling back again and in a voice with a slight rasp to it said, “I know.” Another kiss that Leonard wasn’t about to resist, and then Jim started gathering the blankets more closely around him. “Come on.” Making his way back towards the ledge, he tugged Leonard after him, only pausing to collect the padd and his empty glass as he went.

They tumbled back through the window and into the master bedroom. Leonard moved to throw off his blanket, only to draw it more closely around him with a gasp of, “Jesus! Close the window.” 

Jim chuckled, but moved to comply and quickly had it shut and latched. He turned to find Leonard standing in the middle of the room, clearly uncertain even in the low light from the hall. “Come on, Bones! Quilt.” He grabbed the other man and tugged him heavily down into the king sized bed, throwing the quilt over them clothes and all.

A cold nose pressed to the junction of his neck and shoulder made Leonard yelp, only to find himself immobilized by what felt like a nearly two meter long octopus. He tried to squirm, but the younger only gripped him more tightly. “Jim…”

“Not tonight.” Jim didn’t want to talk; not about this. Not now.

The words were muffled by the fabric of his sweater, but Leonard had heard them clearly enough. Fine, he thought, _fine_. Offering a silent hope that this wouldn’t look like a spectacular error in the morning, Leonard let himself be held in place until he fell asleep. 

********

Leonard swam back to consciousness in the morning with a hazy memory of waking in the middle of the night to Jim squirming out of his thick clothing and similarly undressing Leonard as well. There hadn’t been anything sexual in Jim’s touch, just a reaction to the fact that the bed had somehow turned into a furnace since they’d first fallen asleep. Unceremoniously stripped to his boxers, Jim had simply curled back around Leonard and gone to sleep.

Winter sunlight was streaming in the window; they’d clearly overslept. Speaking of _they_... Jim’s arm was curled around Leonard’s waist, holding him firmly in place as the little spoon to Jim’s big. From the puffs of breath on the back of his neck it was clear the younger man was still asleep, despite the tight grip.

The night before seemed like some kind of dream: listening to the recording, hearing Jim born and his father die. Declarations of love from George Kirk. Seeking Jim’s warmth under the stars and it turning into something else entirely; something far more complicated. 

For the last two and a half years he’d watched Jim ladies man his way across campus and through a good proportion of the student body. No attachments, never settling. Leonard was so caught up in his own thoughts he didn’t notice any change until a sleep roughened voice whispered in his ear, “You’re freaking out.”

Jerking in surprise, Leonard tried to mask the movement by shifting lazily and offering the denial, “I am not.”

A puff of air against his ear might have been a chuckle in reply. The arm tightened around his waist with a whispered, “Liar.” Sensing the tension in Leonard’s frame, Jim curled more closely and entwined their legs as he asked, “What’s got you in a twist, Bones?”

_We’re in bed together_. What the hell did Jim think? Everything was twist-worthy about this situation, so far as Leonard was concerned. What had happened last night? Was it simply a reaction to the day, and an ill-conceived reaction at that? Was this meant to be more than a weekend thing? And if so, what _kind_ of thing? They hadn’t _slept_ slept together. And on that note, damn it, did Jim even want to? With all of that swirling around, what he did manage to get out was simply, “You’re my best friend.” 

“Hmmmm,” Jim’s hum of acknowledgement carried a note of understanding. He shifted and somehow pulled Leonard even more tightly against him as he said, “Sounds like a solid basis for a relationship, don’t you think?”

This was so far removed from anything Leonard had imagined about how the weekend could go his head was swimming. Fear clenched briefly in his stomach, because if there was one thing he knew it was that happening to sit on the shuttle from Riverside next to James T. Kirk had been one of the defining moments of luck in his life. “What if…” Leonard cleared his throat, but the next few words wouldn’t quite come: _what if we fuck it up_?

Jim seemed to understand nonetheless, as his breath was hot on Leonard’s ear as he said, “I don’t believe in no-win scenarios,” then pressed a kiss to the bare skin just at the edge of Leonard’s hairline.

Damn if the skin behind his ear didn’t seem to be connected directly to the rest of Leonard’s nervous system, as his stomach relaxed and something warm blossomed in his chest and, hell, he just felt good all over. He’d forgotten how good this could feel. How _right_. Letting himself simply relax, he found himself blurting out, “You know, I didn’t bring you here to try and seduce you.”

Suppressing a chuckle at the non sequitur, recognizing it as a sign of Leonard’s utter bemusement at the turn of events, Jim gently teased back, “No? Steak dinner, scotch and stargazing: if that’s not your A-game, what is?”

Good-naturedly, Leonard grumbled, “I wish I was so smooth.” Wanting to leave no doubt, he added, “I’d never… on your birthday.” 

“I know, Bones.” Pressing another kiss to the side of Leonard’s neck, “I know.”

They spent the morning in bed, emerging sated and hungry around lunchtime. As Leonard grappled with the coffeemaker, dark hair a mass of riotous bedhead fit to make a hedgehog jealous, Jim couldn’t help starting to laugh. One eyebrow raised in warning, Leonard set the machine brewing with a vicious jab to the correct button, then turned only to have something skitter in his chest. Jim looked _happy_. As happy and relaxed as Leonard had ever seen him. The eyebrow dropped, expression softening as he met Jim’s blue eyes. Opening his arms, he commanded, “Come here,” and damn but Jim actually came. Leonard wrapped his arms tightly around the younger man. _This_ he could get used to.

**********

Keying open the door, Christopher Pike cautiously stepped inside. Nothing was obviously out of place, everything was clean… the only signs of recent habitation were the diminished woodbox and, yes, the missing bottle of scotch. He smiled to himself— he hadn’t been sure if McCoy would take him up on the offer or not. The upstairs was similarly clean: linens had been run through the washing machine and replaced. Only the position of the spare blankets in both bedrooms signalled they had been used. 

It was almost sunset, so Pike grabbed a beer from the kitchen and then made his way back to the master bedroom and out onto the roof to enjoy the view. As he was getting settled, a series of marks in the normal weathering of the roof tiles caught his eye and he leaned down to look more closely: "Thank you— LM," soon to fade with exposure. 

_Well_. Smiling to himself, Pike took a long sip of beer and gave himself a mental pat on the back. The sunset was beautiful, as always, painting the scrubland in purples, blues and pinks even as the sky turned a brilliant orange over the horizon. The chill grew quickly; he was about to climb back inside when something else caught his eye: a smaller act of vandalism in another hand, almost entirely missable but for how the light happened to catch the right roof tile: JTK + LHM encircled by a heart. 

Years later, he would swear he felt something stutter to a halt in his brain with a profound sense of _God save the universe_.

He had to comm Phil. 

This was going to be _epic_.


End file.
